Searching for Warmth
by Ilse Adelinde
Summary: Alfons sees the transmutation circle on the ceiling of the factory, and realizes that Edward is right and he is wrong in not believing in his friend. Movie Timeline.


**Searching for Warmth**

**Summary: **Alfons sees the transmutation circle on the ceiling of the factory, and realizes that Edward is right and he is wrong in not believing in his friend.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the FMA characters.

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I see that all-encompassing circle on our factory's ceiling; with workers darkening the lines with black paint. I know at that very instant that I am wrong, and he is right. I see Noah and think, "What is she doing here?" while saying her name.

_"Noah?"_

"_Yes, she is the gypsy girl we've been looking for the whole time. Thanks for holding her up in Munich. _

"_Why is she here?"_

"_She is the key to open the gate to Shamballa."_

Shamballa. Is that the name of his world? No, I hear him say before he comes from Amestris while I watch him draw a circle similar to the one I am now beholding.

"_This is for simple transmutations"_

_I nodded just for the sake of appearance, for I can't quite believe that a world were alchemy is the most advanced form of science is just incredulous. Still, I marveled at the circles, the lines and the symbols that told me of mysteries of which only he could ever understand._

"_You might not believe my world, but you can just take this array as an artwork," and he handed me the drawing. I only smiled. I didn't have anything to say in reply. Not when he looked like he will crumble right in front of me whenever I deny the existence of his world; not when he didn't want to have any attachments to people, saying that he might not be able to leave them if a way back home materializes out of nothing._

But this, this circle that I see, this colossal artifact that floods my eyes is his way home to that other world which I did not believe. And this all-encompassing circle slaps me on the face for not believing my friend.

"_So what brings you to rocketry?" I asked him when we met in Professor Oberth's office._

_Grinning, he answered, "To find my brother," while he looked at me straight in the eyes, like he was searching for something. I frowned, but still smiled while I answered, "With rockets?" thinking he was just joking. Surely one can't be lost in outer space that you need a rocket to find someone._

"_With rockets," he repeated, sounding fully convinced with himself. He then added, "Who knows, there might be another world, we might even live there!" He was still grinning, his spirits almost jumping, almost euphoric, like he drank a gallon of coffee that morning._

"_Now that's impossible," I was the one grinning now, shaking my head and riding on with his joke._

"_What do you know? It was often said before that men can and will never fly, but we did." He then tried to reach my head and tiptoed when he can't reach it. _

"_Man, you're tall," he snorted; hooked his left arm around my neck, and started to ruffle my hair._

"_Hey, let go." I pried his arm away from me. Not that I complained, but this was just the first time that we met. He did let go though, still smiling widely. Seriously, what's with all that smile? _

"_Sorry for that. You look like my brother, sorry," he apologized while stepping back._

"_Oh, okay. Apology accepted," so that's the reason for the familiar attitude._

_Rubbing my neck, I suggested, "Maybe I have a little resemblance. I'm sure as heaven knows that I don't have a twin, you know." _

_"Just look at the mirror." He countered. He's not grinning widely now, but serenely smiling while looking at my eyes. It was like he was searching for something, or someone. There's a small twinge in my heart that told me he wasn't joking anymore._

I tell him that I will help him find his brother and that I will help him find his way home. But what did I do? I didn't believe his world, not even a slightest bit, not even when we first met. I believe in the "I-want-to-find-my-brother" part, but another world? Who in their right mind would say that he comes from another world when _this_ whole world, himself included, knows that he is_ here_. People around us would say words when he turns his back; that he is a madman, and that I ought to do better than to keep him in my house. No, I fiercely do not believe in that. I ignored their mocking looks and hushed silences. I, of all people, know that he is _not_ a madman. Not when he is so adept at both theorizing and applying concepts; not when he doesn't act like one. But sometimes, I, of all people, am also lost in his own sanity.

_"Call me insane, I don't care. But even if you don't believe in my world or my stories, at least believe the existence of the people in my stories. They are not just my imaginings; they__** are.**__"__He sighed; bowed his head and looked at his right hand, flexing it._

_I took a step back thinking that he might do something I might not like, but he sighed once more and slowly turned his eyes on mine._

_"They are my memories Alfons. What does that make of me if you don't believe any of it?" He was almost whispering, and he stared hard at me. I wanted to answer, "A phantom? A non-existence? A deranged boy?", but I shoved it at the back of my head. Instead, I turned my eyes off his face and looked at his shoes, not knowing any alternative answer, not knowing how to comfort him._

I now I look at that all-encompassing circle above all of us, shaming me for shaming my friend and his memories.

He wants me to believe his stories and his world, but what about _this _world?What about _my _world? Noah have told me that he have said he is just living in a waking dream; that all are mirages; all are illusions. _What the hell is that?_ I am deeply hurt. After all those times that we've been together? After all those times that I've put up with him just to make him stay in the realm of sanity? After all my efforts to laugh at each of his stories just to keep his spirits up? After all those smiles that I gave to him just to see that flare in his eyes again? This is all I get? That I am just a face in a dream? That I am not real? At all?

But sometimes, I wish what he says is true. I wish that I am really just a face; that I am just a fleeting dream; that I could just close my eyes and believe that I am not here. Because if I am not here, I will never be hurt, I will never see my blood filling the sink, I will never feel my back aching with every cough, and I will never feel my chest slowly being eaten away by bacteria. And then I would just open my eyes and see that I am not a dying _young_ man. Oh, dreams are very tempting visions, but it is not the case. I look at the sink and see my life literally drained down; he looks at me and my face tells him that he is not at home anywhere. He is a young man without a brother, without a home, without a world.

I gaze at the enigma that is the all-encompassing circle above all our heads. The circles and smaller circles tell me a promise that is yet to be fulfilled, lines that crisscross each other tell me of paths yet to be treaded, and the light that illuminates it showers me with a secret that only he could fathom and bathes me with a certainty that I want to…no, I need to help him on his way home.

I hear a shot from somewhere, and I see him fall like a dark angel plunging to the darkness of Hell itself, while the downpour of his father's very own life showers the rockets. The shadows engulf him, and I hear the clanging of metals echoing its protests as it clash with a living burden of flesh and steel. I blink, shaking myself out of my musings. "Edward…"

"Check the control boards, the launch pads, and prepare the rockets," ordered one of Hess's men.

I myself directed my team to each of the rocket planes, some covered with thin trickles of Sir Elric's blood. My stomach grinded at the memory of seeing Edward's father suddenly turn into a splash of blood in midair. I gulped my saliva as my stomach churned upwards. I told my teammates to check the dashboards and even the slightest exposed wiring just to buy myself enough time to silently run to where he fell, in one of the darkest corners of the factory behind all the … killing machines that I built.

The wind blew in all directions, and the portal shone its yellow light. But with all its light, only a streak reached me, and I had to concentrate on my eyes to see clearly in the dark while crawling on the cold, tiled floor, my hands searching for a warm body. And I caught hold of something. Hard. Cold. Thin. Wrapped in fabric. I roamed my hands on his head, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, and his left arm and right leg. No sign of pooling blood anywhere. "Geez, you're a heck of a lucky guy", and carried him on my back as silently as possible.

I stood up and took my tentative steps, testing his weight, but I stumbled upon a stray metal pole and the gonging sound echoed in the place. I gulped, waiting for anybody to shout at me. Sometimes, gravity didn't help me at all, and this was one of those moments. Standing again and arranging this guy on my back, I heard the shuffling of feet, the slow pace of the soldiers entering the rockets, the frantic running of my teammates to and fro the rockets with their crazed questions, "Where's Alfons?" "Did anybody see Alfons?" I started walking, hearing the nervous steps of my shoe, the peaceful breathing of my friend, and my own heart praying that nobody would hear me.

I walked, searching for that big piece of metal that I designed and assembled with my team. A one-seater rocket plane with a speed exceeding 11 kps powered by liquid fuel. Without warning, I was suddenly awashed with blinding light. I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust, and after doing the usual look-to-your-left-then-right, I ran as quickly as possible towards the side of the rocket plane. The wind on my face made me shiver, the hairs on my arms and nape rose, but it was not because of the wind. Never before had I felt so disarmingly exposed in the light as if I was stark naked even if I was fully clothed; afraid that one of Thule's members or a Nazi might catch me and kill me and this guy on my back.

I saw what I was looking for, and ran ever so fast, as he was getting heavier no thanks to his prosthetic limbs. I knelt and put him down beside the rocket, letting him lay flat on the floor. With my eyes opened wide and my ears wary for the slightest sound that was not mine and his, I went nearer to the rocket's side. I opened the windshield as quietly as I can, aware of everything in my surroundings: the brittleness of the glass windshield against my palm, the cold of the hollow factory made colder by hard steel and glass ceilings, and my own heart racing, praying nobody would see me.

Hooking my arms around his armpits, I dragged him closer beside the rocket. I let go of him and stood up straight; took a deep breath and carried him on my arms while cursing gravity for making him so heavy. But my forehead banged against the glass that I dropped him on the seat, making the springs inside it groan. Rubbing my head, I listened for any sound besides my already palpitating heart. Nothing.

I stepped down from the rocket, went to the control panels and waited. Waited amidst the commanding voice of Lady Eckart making her way to the largest rocket-powered plane, the panic-stricken voices of my teammates still searching for me, the stiff military march of the Nazis, and my own heart beating; my eyes staring in awe at that all-encompassing circle above my head, now sporting a glowing portal bathing me with yellow light; inviting me to touch its warmth.

"So beyond that light is your world." I whisper.

I didn't believe him, and I have to see him lose his interest in rocketry first, people second, living third, and his very life disappear from his eyes last. It is as if this world sucked his very happiness from him. I've stood by him, fed him, defended him, and laughed and smiled at his stories. I've given him things that he didn't ask me for, but I didn't grant his _only_ wish from me: to believe him and have faith in him.

"You are his way home…" I address the circle and wish that it will engulf me with its alluring light. Is this circle the proof that I am unconsciously waiting for? Is this circle a proof to all his stories? Yes, it is. And those stories are not just his stories,those are_ his memories. _If putting him inside this rocket and sending him back to where he belongs is the only way to atone for my sin of not having faith in him, let it be. If this is the last thing that I will do for him, I will do it, just so I can see again in his eyes _the will to live._

He stirs inside the cockpit; I stand up and bid him to keep his silence.

_"Wait. I didn't say I wanted to go over there!"_

Typical Edward. Never wanting other people to help him. Never wanting _me_ to help him. I want to hit his head on the dashboard. Repeatedly. I want to hit his head while saying, "What will you do? Sabotage the rockets? _Time _is the _first_ thing you don't have. Fight the Nazis? Your _prosthetic limbs_ will be the _first _thing that won't help you. But instead I smile and say,

_"I want you to go."_

Besides, you've said a million times in the span of two years that you want to go back, and now that your way home is already on top of your head, you ought to grab it. It's your only chance.

_"Alfons… Am I bothering you?"_

You are asking me if you are a bother? If you are, then I could've just kicked you out when you started not paying your bar tab; if you are, I wouldn't have allowed you to team up and study rocketry with me; I wouldn't have stayed with you; and I wouldn't have smiled and laughed with you. If you are a bother, I wouldn't have pressed myself in making this world beautiful for you. Not at all. But then…

_"__We're real Edward; we're not just part of your dreams like you thought. I care, and I make mistakes. Even if I die, I am still myself. I am definitely here.__[1]_

How about me? After this, what now? Wait for my life to ebb away? But that is exactly what I have been doing for the past months now. Another rocket project? I wouldn't even have the strength anymore. Or even time. Maybe I'll just forget the whole historical immortality mission that I'm imposing on myself. I've become a living time-bomb because of that.

I put my cold and sweaty hand on top of his gloved one. Now I'm the one beseeching him for something.

_"Don't forget me."_

His hand feels so cold. I look at his eyes, searching for warmth, and I see a promise. That is all I need.

I quickly closed the cockpit and ran to the control boards; ignored his protests for me to stop. I actually felt good that I strapped him on his seat. Tightly. I'd made my resolve, dear friend, I want you to go back home. This world, _my_ world will never be enough for you no matter how hard I try to make it _your_ home. I'm sorry for not believing in you. This is the only way I could think of to soothe your pain and relieve me of my guilt.

I gripped the lever tightly, pinning all my hopes that if there is _no one_ in my world to remember me, then at least there is someone in _another_ who will never forget me. I held on to his promise, my last strand of worth. I then bravely pulled the lever down; there is no turning back now.

The rocket took off.

Lifting my head, I contemplated the sight before my eyes while the fresh breeze[2] of smoke and wind calmed my racing heart. The surge of light trickled down my face and lavished the rocket with warm radiance. Inside that rocket is my friend Edward, going back home to be with his little brother.

I smile. Even after a sharp pain on my back have sent me down on my knees. _So, I have been discovered_. Is this my prize for everything? Maybe yes. My very own death. But I've already seen the face of death before whenever I wash my life away with water and whenever I make the holes in my lungs grow bigger everytime I inhale combustion fumes. _I am not afraid to die now._

Did I deserve this?

I want to die with a reason. I want to die doing something worthy. I want to die wholeheartedly giving my life to one of those things I want the most. His spirit; his life.

I've always heard Edward mutter, "…Equivalent Exchange…" That's it. My life for his.

Did I deserve this? I won't hesitate, my answer is yes, I deserve this. My life for his happiness.

I try to blink a few times, as I don't want my hand to be the last thing I'm staring at and my sight is already blurring. I hear somebody shriek Edward's name. Is that Noah? So he is still here.

With my eyes steadily blurring, I close my eyes and try to remember that beautiful scenery: That glowing portal radiating its luminescence showing me _a mystery that I now accept_ and my friend Edward inside my rocket, going back home to be with his little brother Al.

I feel the warm moisture underneath my stomach, and the tips of my fingers and toes are starting to numb. I try to remember his eyes that shine with a promise and smile at what I see even if I cannot stretch my lips anymore.

I hold on to _his promise_ in my still beating but already slowing heart, _my last strand of happiness; my last strand of warmth._

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[1] I watched the movie in Japanese dubbing, English fansubbing, so I am not very sure with some of the translations. Also, what I did in Alfons's line, "We're real Edward…" was to mix the English and Japanese interpretations, with the Japanese interpretation on the last part, "Even if I die, I am still myself. I am definitely here."

[2] I am referring to the force of the wind; not the quality of air. Fresh breeze has a force of 19-24 miles per hour in the Beaufort scale.

Thank you so much for reading my story! Reviews, comments and suggestions for improvement will be put to good use, but for the love of all things anime, don't give flames. This is my first fic, so be kind to me. :D


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